The Itch

I've a growing b-tch of a persistent itch plaguing a part down under in a well-hidden spot sweaty and hot tearing my sanity asunder I long for a table legs sturdy and stable for a really quick rub up-and-down even a toothpick or any such gimmick heaven help; it's now inside my crown Tightly I'm tethered I grin but nay bear it for relief lift my legs a mere tad the heat's volcanic the swelling gigantic as far as itch goes this is bad Mouth starting to foam I hobble on home I've mere minutes 'fore madness takes hold my head's on the spin an orchestra within one step from insanity's threshold Once inside my abode rev to fast turbine mode my eyes and my fingers a-twitch on the verge of cuckoo I kick off my shoe with relish scratch the dastardly itch I curse, for this morning I disregarded Ma's warning: "Today sultry and hot is our weather to avoid insanity wear shoes that are comfy not those ones of el cheapo leather."